


Was

by Shyspyder



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (again), Angst, Episode: s08ep03, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, NO DEATH, Reunion, Sansa POV, probably a fix-it, s08ep03 prediction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-31 05:43:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18584950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shyspyder/pseuds/Shyspyder
Summary: Sansa knew that Theon was stubborn, and his vow to protect Bran in the Godswood was all but a death sentence.





	Was

**Author's Note:**

> It’s finals this week so fuck me I guess but I’m still not letting go of this ship. It’s not Sunday yet, pals.

Sansa Stark, the Lady of Winterfell, gazed out at the rest of the Ironborn fleet that had gathered ahead of them. They were far luckier than they could have been. Yara Greyjoy had arrived in White Harbor only hours before they--and the wights--had. 

Sansa shuttered at the still-recent memory of those who were left living clamoring onto the ships for safety, desperate for a place amongst the fleet. But even here, even knowing that she would be safe, she felt as if her chest had been caving in ever since they left the walls of Winterfell. A part of her ripped out and left behind to rot in the snow, to die away. 

No. That part of her died the moment Theon announced he would stay in the Godswood with Bran. It was a death sentence, and there was no getting around it. In all the ways Theon had changed over the years, she had quickly learned that his stubbornness was not one of them. 

But that didn’t stop Sansa from wishing that she would have the time to wait a little bit longer. If not to see if he had survived the battle of Winterfell, then at least to see if he was amongst those who had gotten out. Perhaps he had, against all odds, managed to slip out after Bran was overtaken by the Night King. But a part of her knew that if he had, he would have found her by now. Or at least, she would have heard something. Anything.

She squeezed her eyes shut and turned away from the sea. She couldn’t bear to look at it a moment longer. Everytime the sea-salt scent hit her nose, it reminded her of how close he held her, the feel of his soft hair against her cheek as he pulled her closer. And everytime she caught a glimpse of the Greyjoy sigil flapping in the wind, it reminded her of the leather armor he wore when she last saw him. 

“Lady Sansa,” a low voice murmured beside her. She turned around slightly. Yara Greyjoy stood beside her, eyes narrowed as she too stared out at the sea. Sansa wondered if she knew. She supposed she must have. 

“Queen Yara,” she said. She was surprised at how smooth the title came from her lips. Far smoother than Queen Daenerys. Queenship suited the Ironborn woman. Stocky and battleworn, with light brown hair and eyes to match. But her face, the way she looked, reminded Sansa too much of Theon. She couldn’t bear to look at her face for too long. 

But the longer they stretched on, the silence too had become unbearable. She opened her mouth, and then closed it. Struggling to find the words to say. She settled with something easy. 

“How long until we reach Pyke?” She asked.

In the corner of her eye, she could see Yara lift her chin. “Not too long, I expect. The winds favor us this evening, as they will in the nights to come, if the Maesters are right.” 

Sansa nodded, and continued on. “I’m not sure I thanked you before. We’d be dead right now, if it weren’t for you and your ships.” She was surprised at how easy it was to speak to her, how the words slipped from her mouth. She supposed, after everything, Yara was the last piece of Theon she had left. 

Still, her mind flashed to images of White Harbor. They had only barely made it, and the images of wights rising from the ashes of the smallfolk who had not would haunt her nightmares for the rest of her life. For a brief moment, her mind dared to settle on the image of Theon, eyes and skin ice-blue. She squeezed her eyes shut, desperate to keep it from spreading. The image of it...it was near too much to bear. 

“I suspected my Queen would need somewhere to retreat, if things didn’t go as planned,” Yara purred. “And I don’t believe Theon would have ever forgiven me if I did anything else.”

Sansa winced, and she could feel Yara’s eyes watching her, studying the pain in her expression. Her voice grew a pitch softer, as she took a step closer. “He’ll always be a Stark, I know that. But...you must know that you’re the true reason he returned to Winterfell, lady Sansa. Even if he never said it outloud, I always knew that he cared about you more than anything.” 

Tears spring into her eyes, but she forced herself to keep them at bay. For just a few moments longer, at least. Until she no longer had to be the Lady of Winterfell, and could just be Sansa. “He was very brave, you’re brother,” she all but whispered. Her breath hitched, but she forced herself to continue. “I wouldn’t be here without him. I…”

Yara’s eyebrows drew into a frown as she tilted her head in confusion. “Was?” 

Sansa felt her heart seize at the hesitation in her voice. But still, she could not dare let herself feel hope. Couldn’t dare let her heart feel anything but grief. Not now, not when the fate of the world was still at stake. 

But there was something about the look in Yara’s eye when she asked. The confusion, the genuine disbelief, the--

“Sansa?” 

Her heart stopped. She turned around slowly, her eyes the last thing to meet the source of that soft voice. The one from her dreams, from their last night on earth. Sitting around the fire, drinking soup and crying in each other’s arms. 

Theon. 

He looked the same as he had before. His eyes and skin weren't blue, though the bags beneath his eyes suggested that the night before had been a sleepless one. This same eyes stared back at her, filling with tears. 

“I thought…” 

Unlike before, they met halfway this time. Theon’s arms curling around her and pulling her close. And unlike before, she didn’t care who was watching. Didn’t care that he was once the lord of the Iron Islands, and she the Lady of Winterfell. And she certainly didn’t care that his sister was standing not a few steps away, her own eyes smiling sadly. 

She didn’t pull away for a long while, not until her back was numb from leaning into him. She could feel her cheeks staining with tears and pooling at her chin, but she made no move to wipe them away. 

“I wanted to search for you, the entire road to White Harbor. I wanted to so badly, but I thought I knew the truth. Theon, I’m so--”

“Don’t apologize,” he murmured. “You don’t ever have to apologize to me. Not about anything.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and wrapped her arms around him once more. After a while, she could feel him pulled at her gently, guiding them to a nearby corridor so they were safe from the harsh winds that blew above them. At some point, Yara and the others had disappeared into the rooms below too. She felt a twinge of relief. It was the first time that she and Theon were alone, really alone, since...a very long time. 

They sat against the steps, hands instinctively twining with each other as she rested her head on his shoulder. 

“But how did you get out?” She whispered. Then, realizing that she wasn’t quite ready to hear the bloody details of how Bran had most likely fallen, she shook her head. “I mean, I thought…” 

His voice was soft and gentle, apologetic even. “We were the last ones to get out of Winterfell. After...well...” She felt him shiver. 

“It’s ok.” She shook her head against him. “You don’t have to tell me. Just...be here.” 

But he continued on anyways. She realized that this was important to him, that she know this. “After Bran, I went to the crypts. I needed to make sure that you got out, that you were safe. But when I got there, you were already gone.” He looked at her, then. His eyes filled with tears. “I was ready to die, Sansa. And when I couldn’t protect him, I thought for a moment maybe...maybe I should have died.” 

Her breath quickened. “Don’t say that,” she whispered. “We lived, Theon. We got out, and we’re never going back.” She embraced him once more before looking into his eyes. “And I’m here, right? I’m right here.” 

He didn't say anything, just held her close. 

Sansa didn't know who moved first. She didn’t know if it even mattered. But she would never forget the feeling of his lips on hers as they leaned into each other. Later, she realized that it was her first kiss. Her first real kiss, with someone she cared about, who cared about her too. Joffrey, Littlefinger, Ramsay...none of them mattered anymore. 

They had shared the worst days of their lives together, and from the moment his lips met hers, she knew in her heart that they would survive this too.


End file.
